


I Deduce

by HollyKasakabe



Series: Tumblr Requests [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1.5k, 2nd POV, 2nd Person, Boredom, F/M, Grocery Shopping, HollyKasakabe, I Spy - Freeform, Reader-Insert, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyKasakabe/pseuds/HollyKasakabe
Summary: Request: Can I request a Sherlock x Reader one shot where they go grocery shopping and Sherlock starts deducing people out of boredom? Thanks! Great blog!! :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Y/N - Your Name

You pushed the shopping cart in front of you, about a quarter full with the items on your list, which you kept looking at. You had to move slowly so that you didn't zigzag all across the store, picking up everything on the first trip down the corresponding aisle, and Sherlock was driving you insane. You would have gone even slower if you thought it would make him shut up, but even the success of completing the produce rounds wasn't enough to curb his frustration.

"Bored!" He announced, throwing his head back, sliding his phone away.

"Deal with it," you retorted quickly, looking at your list again. _Got bananas, next is cheese._

Sherlock shuffled, bouncing his knees, antsier than a kid told to stay put in an amusement park. "There's nothing stimulating about the store, Y/N," he practically hissed while he glared around. "I can _feel_ my brain rotting."

A passing mother with a baby in a stroller sent you a sympathetic look and glared at Sherlock for being obnoxious. You wished you could trade companions. At least the baby wasn't making much noise.

"Drama queen," you muttered under your breath, and then indignantly shot him a look over your shoulder. He was keeping up, but he wasn't doing it with enthusiasm. "You think this is fun for me?"

Sherlock eyed you skeptically. "You _are_ the one that wanted to come."

"Because I'm being responsible," you explained for the fourth – or was it the fifth? – time. He was really getting on your nerves. You loved him to death but sometimes the love felt a little less like love and a little more like a desire to take actions that Lestrade would have to handcuff you for. "Alright, you know what, you want to act like a kid, fine. Play I Spy. My parents used to play it with me when I was bored."

The merit seemed clear. While you "tried your hardest" to guess what Sherlock was I Spy-ing, he'd have to shut up and let you think. The clever part? Instead of investing in the game, you'd leave him hanging and move as slowly as possible while you did the shopping.

Sherlock huffed, but he indulged you. "I spy a junior golfer whose mother is oblivious to her husband's affair," he said loudly to spite you, and both of the couples in your aisle of refrigerated goods stared at you with wide eyes, one of them horribly offended. Then one of them realized that they had a golfing child and turned on her spouse, the female looking ready to kill.

You really wanted to say you didn't know him, but he'd been trailing you around since you entered the store. Hastily, you pushed your basket further along. You could get frozen dinners later.

"That is _not_ how you play I Spy," you smacked his shoulder. "Do you want one or two percent milk?"

"Neither." Sherlock crossed his arms petulantly.

"You have to get some sort of milk, Sherlock," you scolded.

"I don't _have_ to," he archly replied. "But you seem determined to keep the fridge regularly stocked with what you deem normal household staples." Through this, he had picked up a gallon of each and was looking at the nutrients list on the backs, so you let him complain. "So, if you insist on milk, one percent is more useful for my purposes."

He set the two percent back where it came from and dropped the other in the basket. The white gallon clanged the metal and you flinched. It bounced and then settled in front of the apples and plums.

You remembered John constantly being upset that there was never any milk, and now that you'd moved into 221B, you agreed with him – it was a constant struggle. You had never had any proof, until now. Fixing Sherlock with a suspicious stare, you stepped up to his toes and stood chest-to-chest with him.

"And what would those purposes be?" You asked calmly.

Sherlock opened his mouth, but read your expression and, for once, knew when it best suited him not to elaborate. "I don't think I should tell you."

"If I go to get cereal tomorrow and there's no milk, I'm going to send you out to do this alone," you threatened. Sherlock hated shopping but he had to eat, just like any other human being, and if you just held off on it long enough, he would eventually give in.

Sherlock looked over your shoulder and his eyes moved quickly. "I spy a woman allergic to the garden she's tending to," he said, discouraging you from pursuing the milk argument. You looked over your shoulder on impulse and saw a blonde rubbing at pink wrists. "Unfortunately it will likely take a few days before she realizes what she's reacting to."

"Oh, I see how it is, change the subject," you grumbled. You looked up and down the aisle and then realized that what you were looking for was hidden behind the tall detective. "Pick up some margarine, please, since you're in my way?"

Blindly, Sherlock reached behind him and somehow managed to pick up your favored brand without so much as glancing back. He passed it to you while curiously scanning the other grocery shoppers.

"That one's got a dog," he declared, pointing out the man he was referring to.

"Dog?! Where?!" You spun around and looked quickly up and down, but deflated. There were no animals. "You liar!" You accused, scowling and moving on to the cartons of eggs.

"I didn't lie, I simply observed. Look, there's fur on the hems of his trousers and dog treats in his pockets." You squinted, but while you could maybe see the thin lines of light color on the dark pants, you couldn't see anything that proved the bulges were actually dog treats. He was showing off again. "He's carrying a training pamphlet. I would guess a puppy – small breed, going off the height of the fur. White fur, needs its claws trimmed."

You sighed thoughtfully. Lapdogs could be cute and sweet, and who knew, maybe Mrs. Hudson would be alright with it? That just left one obstacle-

"Y/N." Sherlock's voice was flat. "Y/N, stop thinking about dogs."

Your boyfriend and flatmate was not interested in being a pet owner. You sighed, this time more saddened than inspired.

"I spy a baseball player. Oh, not anymore, though. Shoulder trauma."

"Okay, that's enough," you said tiredly. Your entire plan had backfired. The athlete in question hurried up to walk past you and sent Sherlock a nasty look for pointing it out. You were worried he was going to get himself punched.

"But I'm not bored anymore," Sherlock objected, seeking out a new target of his deductive abilities.

You threw your hands up. "This isn't even I Spy anymore, Sherlock!" You weren't sure it ever really had been. "You're just telling me about other peoples' lives."

"Then I've made my own game," he said contemplatively. He broke into a smirk and rubbed his hands together cunningly. "Excellent, John can't tell me what is or isn't allowed if I wrote the rules."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I spy a consulting detective who's about to be doing his own grocery shopping." You looked at your list again. Only halfway through. How were you supposed to be patient enough to handle it?

Sherlock picked up some eggs that you had gotten sidetracked from, and seconded them with Greek yogurt he saw you eating with your breakfasts. He could be helpful, just chose not to be most of the time. The detective smiled at you, doing the charming look that bordered on flirtatious. No matter how unhappy he was with the traditional couples' activities, he sure could be persuasive, and the gentle smile was so beautiful on his face.

"I deduce a tired girlfriend who would very much like a long shower and hot cup of tea," he said to you with a rumbling chuckle in his chest.

Your eyes positively lit up. "Oh, _yes_ , please!"

Sherlock leaned back, instantly losing his interest and spacing himself away. Your lips parted in surprise. You thought he'd been about to kiss you, or at least say something nice. He could do that sometimes. It took some training, but you had managed to teach him that you were more indulgent of his quirks when he was kinder.

"You don't need my permission, Y/N, although I do advise you put away the shopping first." Detachedly, Sherlock took out his phone and opened it up, thumbs tapping on the keys and texting like lightning. "While you do that, I'll call Lestrade. Even a four would be better than your next trip to the grocer's."

Your jaw dropped and you picked up the first thing in the basket within reach of your hand. Sherlock yelled indignantly when he was hit with a fresh loaf of bread.


End file.
